


could i be more obvious?

by marin27



Category: Spider-Man (Video Games 2018-2020), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Age Difference, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, No Beta We Die Like Aunt May, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Overthinking, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28608645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marin27/pseuds/marin27
Summary: 5 Times Peter kisses Miles on the forehead + 1 Emotional Time that Miles did it back—Featuring overthinking!Miles and guilty!Peter. We love these two idiots.
Relationships: Miles Morales/Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	could i be more obvious?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is not as polished as my other fics because I just pumped this out as fast I could, and when I reached the +1 part, things got so angsty and I just had to stretch that part out.
> 
> It was supposed to be something fluffy, something lighthearted but then the +1 part of the fic happened and then Miles/Peter feels got me so good.
> 
> Also, I guess why this fic feels kind of rushed, is because rn, as I'm editing, I'm pretty much running on sheer procrastination, two cups of coffee and a bottle of 5 hour energy. I'm just filled to the brim with energy and no one's gonna stop me from writing like crayz muahahhahahhah  
> Anyway enjoy!!!  
> Another Miles/Peter fic with feels no one asked for.

1

“Ah, crap.” the splash of hot coffee over his hand is an incredibly rude wake-up call.

Miles grimaces at the splatters of the waste caffeine goodness. “Whoops.”

Miles will just blame Peter for having a shoddy coffee pot. The handle is loose like crazy. What’s the point of being a genius when you don’t repair your own stuff? 

He’s wiping the evidence of his mistake with paper towels when Miles hears the creak of Peter’s bedroom door. There’s the light patter of feet, and Miles can’t help but think it’s early, even for Peter’s standards.

Miles is only awake for personal reasons that he will _not_ elaborate on, because if there’s one thing that Miles doesn’t like; it’s the fact he’ll be stuck with the ever-lasting deep repercussions if he utters even a single word about it. Besides, he’s, like, Spider-man now—like a legit, grown-up one. Considering he did take down an evil conglomerate on his own—with the help of his best friend, of course. He should be able to handle his own misgivings.

Miles pulls his mug to his lips—a Spider-man themed one with his suit colors on it; Peter made it for him since he thought it was total bullshit that no one had made merch of the new Spider-man yet. He turns on his heel, leans against the counter. Peter is shirt-less, shuffling into the living area with plaid pajamas, sporting a nasty bruise over the circle of his right shoulder—he’d dislocated it when a truck rammed into him during one of the robberies last night.

“Coffee,” Miles mutters, averting his eyes. Peter doesn’t even acknowledge him, simply pulls a mug out of the shelf out of muscle memory, eyes still half-closed. Miles turns, grabbing the coffee pot from its station.

“G’mornin’,” Peter mumbles, and when Miles turns around to pour some into Peter’s cup, Peter leans down, presses his lips onto Miles’ forehead.

_What._

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles and grabs the coffee pot from Miles’s grip to pour the coffee for himself.

_What._

Miles is left there, blinking, staring wide-eyed at Peter.

_What the f—_

“Wait,” Peter halts, brows furrowing, coffee pot poised right over his mug. His eyes crack a little wider, blinking blearily, and they start to flicker from his half-empty cup to Miles.

He’s frowning, the gears turning a little too slow. Not that Miles is fairing any better, because he’s pretty sure he’s making a face that makes him looks constipated.

“I thought…” Peter mumbles under his breath and then—Miles sees it.

Hazel eyes snap open, staring at Miles, ”Oh sh—Miles, I’m—I’m sorry that was totally not on purpose—I was just—”

Miles grimaces. “That was— _weird.”_

Peter recoils, shuts his mouth with a click, a similar look of agony on his face. “Yes. Agreed. A stupid, careless mistake on my part. Can we just, like, ignore what happened in the last two minutes? Cause that would be _great._ ”

Miles cocks a brow, feels the extreme heat radiate from his face. It’s distracting but thankfully he keeps his composure. 

“I’m more focused on the fact you did that in the first place.”

Peter’s grimace doesn’t let up, but he does start to rub the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard. My brain is still half-dead, and because of that, it thought you were MJ. Besides, you two are like the exact same height so it just came naturally.”

The corner of Miles’ lips twists. He lightly punches Peter’s shoulder. “Should have asked me out first.”

He brings his coffee mug to his lips, carefully looking anywhere but at Peter—who only stay silent. 

He knows how he looks right now, but he really, _really_ hopes that Peter can’t see it otherwise—

“Hold on.”

Oh no, no, no—

“Wait, hold on. Are you—Are you _blushing?”_

“Man, shut up—” Miles tries, bringing his cup up higher, eyes trained onto the bottom of his mug.

“No, no, wait, this is _great—_ oh dude, I haven’t seen you that red before, that’s so _cute_.”

Miles webs a spoon to his hand and promptly throws it at Peter’s head—who only dodges perfectly _(damn it, Spider-sense)_ and continues to laugh, like an idiot. Pete’s an idiot.

“You’re a weirdo, Pete.”

“You’re just embarrassed. C’mon, what are bros without a little spicy bromance?”

“I will throw a fork at you, Pete, or so help me God.”

* * *

**2**

Miles doesn’t see it coming for the second time either.

They’re swinging away from the crime scene, after stopping a not-so-subtle but infinitely shady weapons deal. Miles had had his back turned on one of the bigger guys in the gang, and he’d only had a second to react to his Spider-sense before a crowbar came smashing down right over Miles’ head. It hurt, for sure—even Peter had heard the impact and he was several feet away in the alleyway—but Miles regained footing quicker than the guy could pull his arm back for another hit.

They webbed everyone up and swung away, travelled for a couple of blocks before Peter said, “Let’s stop. That hit you took was _awful,_ kiddo.”

Miles didn’t even want to argue—it _was_ throbbing, and the last thing he needed was to get a concussion just because he didn’t stop for five minutes. Sometimes, Spider-healing needs a little breather to get going.

They sat on top of one of the taller buildings in Hell’s Kitchen, and Miles wasted no time pulling off his mask to feel for any bad bumps.

Now, he’s nursing a horrible bruise on his head. Even Peter hisses, tutting under his mask. 

“Hmm. Looks really bad, it’s even swelling. It’s definitely at least a bruise.”

“Wow. Thanks, Dr. Spider-man. Couldn’t have figured that out myself.”

“It might be a hairline fracture,” Peter continues, hardly paying attention to Miles’ words.

Miles sighs, tapping gently over the sensitive area, only to wince when he pokes at the hot spot. Usually, this type of injury would be a cause for great concern for regular people—he and Peter are _far_ from regular people. To them, this is the equivalent to a tiny scrape.

Which is why Peter finds it so _hilarious_ (read the heavy sarcasm) that he had to step into Miles’ space, grasp his cheeks and peck him right at the edge of the injury—light, wildly careful, through the mask. He pulls away, laughing already. Miles stands there, shell-shocked and heating up. 

“Got a bad boo-boo for Dr. Spider-man?” Peter only laughs harder when Miles swats his hands away, glaring at him. The man only crosses an arm over his chest, then props his other elbow to rest his chin on his fist, observing Miles.

“ _Someone’s_ getting a little red.”

Miles huffs, opting to put his mask back on to hide his blush. “Yeah, Pete. From anger. Do you really wanna be thrown off this building right now?”

Peter reaches out once again, which Miles flinches away at, but Peter only grabs his hands and takes the mask away, “The mask will only the bruise worse. Also, thought we were _bros_. Bros don’t attempt to murder each other.”

Miles, still needing a moment to process what the hell just happened, crosses his arms over his chest, puffing up. “I will if you keep this up, Pete.”

“What? The teasing or the kisses?” Peter peers at him, tilting his head.

“Both,” Miles lies through gritted teeth.

There’s only one thing that’s really bothering Miles about this whole situation; it’s the teasing.

“I’m not going to live this down, aren’t I?” Miles says somewhat dejectedly, arms dropping back to his sides.

“ _Nope!”_ Peter says, still way too amused for Miles’ liking. “Not for the next two weeks, at the least.”

“Great,” Miles mutters, rolling his eyes, but his lips betray what he’s really feeling, a smile breaking free despite his best wishes.

* * *

**3**

“Man, this is just not _working.”_

“C’mon, Miles, just one more try. You got this.”

“It’s just not working, Pete. I’m not going to get it.” Miles sighs for what seems to be the umpteenth time, frustrated by both Peter’s and his own stubbornness. Miles has been trying to dodge the holograms’ aims for the past half hour _without_ using his invisibility—not to mention, with all three of his assailants flipped to their highest settings.

“Trust your gut, Miles. Dodging is an art. A muscle you’ve got to work out every now and then.”

Miles groans. The only reason why Miles is doing this in the first place was that during one of their Spidey-excursions, Miles was distracted when he was grazed in the shoulder by a bullet. The wound wasn’t too serious, but it had bled _a lot._

It must have freaked Peter out a lot. Enough to start training Miles again on dodging right away (enhanced healing truly is one of the greatest wonders). The horror on Peter’s face isn’t something he can quite forget, neither is the palpable relief that flooded his expression when they finally got the wound to close. 

(Miles tries not to think about why he was distracted in the first place. Their suits really leave nothing to the imagination—)

“Focus, Miles.”

Miles jerks his head, “I’m focusing.”

Peter is standing only a couple of feet away, not worried about being pelted by paintballs since the holograms’ were programmed to not aim at him.

“You’re getting a little careless, Miles.”

“So what? I’ve got my invisibility.”

Peter shakes his head, ”You’re getting too reliant on your powers too. What if the guys you go up against have infrared sensors? Or if your powers suddenly stop working?”

Peter’s mask moves around, his jaw is working like he doesn’t like to say what’s on his mind. “I won’t always be around to watch your back, you know?”

Miles purses his lips under his mask. “I know. You’ve got to rescued sometimes too. Good thing there are two Spider-men.”

Peter perks up, eyes narrowing, “That’s _not_ what I meant, and you know that.”

Miles shrugs, turning back to his targets, silently glad that he’s able to ease the tension. He knows what Peter means—if I’m down or worse, _dead_ , I can’t protect you.

Miles gets that he’s young and a little more vulnerable to getting maimed out in the field more than Peter is, but it doesn’t mean that he’s completely helpless. As much as Miles feels off-footed without Peter by his side guiding him, Miles isn’t a damsel in distress or worse, a child to be protected.

Really, _that_ part is just—Miles doesn’t want to get into it.

There’s the automated buzz, one that signifies the start of another round, and Miles pushes down the urge to sigh. Really, he gets where Peter is coming from, but really? Does Miles _really_ have to endure such training?

Miles shakes his head. Right now, he’s got some hologram asses to kick.

This round goes better than the last, and Miles is starting to feel hopeful that this might be it, even if his muscles are sore and his lungs burn, Miles can’t help but feel a sense of fulfilment with every successful punch he throws, every hologram coming his way that end up shattering into pixels and stuttering robotic voices.

A chill goes down his spine, and he turns quickly, hooking his leg over the hologram’s shoulder to bring it down, webbing its weapon down for good measure.

He tries not to think of the stare trained on him, tries not to feel self-conscious. His feigned ignorance is good enough that he’s able to put all of his focus into taking down the rest of his foes, trying not to rely on his powers as much.

Dodging is hard, even with the spider-sense, especially in tight spaces like this. But Miles makes do.

By the time he’s panting horribly, his knuckles throbbing and his head spinning from how many turns he’s had to make, wondering just when this is going to end, the buzzer breaks through the air.

Miles nearly drops to his knees, groaning. “Oh, man, that was tough. How long was that round? I swear, it was way longer than the last.”

“Miles! You were amazing! You were incredible! You are just unstoppable—” two large hands grab his shoulders, and he can feel Peter’s mouth press against the top of his head, still masked, “You’re an absolute force to be reckoned with. At this rate, you’ll be fighting without using your powers in no time.”

Miles laughs, wincing when he pulls a sore muscle wrong, “Yeah, uh, Pete, no dice. No way I’m not gonna use my powers. Besides, then _my_ _powers_ will be another muscle to work out too if I don’t use them.”

Miles can’t ever quite get used to how Peter showers him with praise—gushing about both the little and big things he accomplishes. He can’t help but relish in the praise, can’t help but feel a little proud of himself.

Peter laughs, sounding breathless, slings an arm over his shoulders, yapping on about their incredible duo. But Miles is still too focused on the heat over his head, where Peter had pressed into him, touched him.

It’s weird—It’s weird, _it’s weird_ , alright? His heart shouldn’t be going several miles per hour, shouldn’t be beating like he’s falling from a skyscraper. His skin shouldn’t tingle, shouldn’t burn with every tiny brush of Peter’s lips. It’s just weird.

This is getting a little out of hand. 

At least, Peter isn’t teasing him about his blushing now.

* * *

**4**

He feels ill when he wakes up. He and mom visited the grave earlier this morning, and once he’d gotten home, had taken a nap immediately.

When he woke up, though, Miles felt locked on the bed, encased in ice, paralyzed in a way he hasn’t felt before.

He’s able to take his phone off the bedside table, scrolling through his contact list with unseeing eyes. He hesitates when he sees Peter’s name, wondering if he should bother the man with something like this.

But Peter is probably the only person who really understands, who has felt everything that Miles is feeling right now.

He’s swinging through the city when he picks up.

“What’s up, Miles? How’s your day off going?”

Miles screws his eyes shut.

Right. He didn’t tell Peter the reason why he’d taken the day off in the first place. They were having dinner when he’d told Peter and thought that he didn’t want to bring the mood down by bringing up the real reason to why he’s away from Spider-manning at the moment.

“Pete.”

His tongue is frozen, stuck in his mouth, heavy. Every part of his body feels heavy. Brain going through the motions, automatic, cold; the thought of moving is dreadful, sluggish. 

Miles feels as if he’s wading through mud.

“D’you ever wonder how different everything would be. If one thing had changed.”

“That’s a loaded question to ask on a Tuesday afternoon,” Peter chuckles, and there’s a crackle over the line, like a heavy breath.

“Sometimes. A little. I guess when I actually do have time to think about it, yeah.”

“Oh,” Miles mutters.

“Why’d you ask?”

“’S nothing. Was just thinking.”

Being Spider-man isn’t a simple thing, and there’s always a certain motive that pushes them out of the windows, that sends them swinging through New York. It’s like a certain quota that one has to fill to become a Spider-person. Get bitten by a radioactive spider, think of using your powers for selfish reasons, get your father slash-uncle figure killed, et cetera, et cetera. Boxes that both he and Peter fill to the T.

Miles knows it’s why he and Peter work so well, both with and without the masks.

But sometimes that has the unfortunate side effect of Peter seeing a little more than Miles would want.

Peter huffs over the phone, landing over somewhere.

“Miles,” he says, and it’s sounds paused, unsure.

Miles knows the jig is up. “What’s wrong?”

Miles knows he should make an excuse, say that he’s just feeling a little under the weather, he’s distracted because of homework, his ma is mad at him—just something, anything to get Peter off his back. But it’s difficult when the weight over his chest, suffocating and unmoving, disables Miles from pushing a single word past his lips to reassure Peter. Or to save his own self. 

Even staying silent is an answer enough for Peter, and he proven right when Peter says, worried, “Why did you take the day off, Miles?”

He tries one last time to reach for a lie, for an excuse to give Peter. But nothing comes forward, knowing that Peter deserves at least not having a lie shoved in his face anyway.

Peter’s gentle this time. “What’s the real reason?”

“It’s his anniversary today.” 

The sharp inhale in his ears make his eyes close. He doesn’t know why he told Peter. Really, he doesn’t.

“That’s today?” Peter asks quietly. Miles’ mouth is dry, when he says, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed about his voice cracking.

“Are you… How are you doing?” Peter asks. Miles doesn’t hear any of the wind whipping through the mic anymore, he isn’t panting like he’s swinging. 

“We went to his grave this morning,” Miles mumbles, turning over in his bed to look out the window. It’s cloudy outside, dark. It was raining in the morning too. It felt like a rerun of a show he’s seen before. 

“Most of the times, all I see is what happened on that day. Other times, all I remember are the times that I felt… proud of him. The good times. That he protected the city like I do now. But sometimes, I just—”

Miles' fingers twist in his sheets, finding it difficult to speak all of a sudden. “I just want him back.”

He can almost imagine Peter’s face right now, with the mask off. That concerned dip in his brow, the flat line of his lips, the rapid blinking of his hazel eyes as he tries to process, tries to figure out the way to approach this.

MJ once told him about how awkward Peter was, back in high school. A cute stuttering nerd she’d called him in fondness. Peter never fully grew out of that, Miles can tell. Social situations are something that Peter can’t quite get a perfect handle on as he does with being Spider-man or with biochemistry.

“Miles.” The softness in his tone, it makes Miles ache. And Miles—he’s just tired. Today. So, so tired that he doesn’t even fight the words the push past his lips.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

There’s a beat. Peter probably didn’t expect him to say that.

But Miles find that he can’t quite hold his tongue around Peter. It’s become a reoccurrence nowadays.

“Can I—Is it okay if—” Peter is fumbling, unsure of the boundaries, and Miles can’t even find it within himself to stifle the desperation.

“ _Please,”_ Miles breathes. It’s no uncharacteristic, so unlike him to act like this, vulnerable and open and splayed for someone to look into him. But then again, today isn’t like any other day. It’s a day that doesn’t warrant normalcy in the Morales household. He’d felt cold just walking through the apartment this morning as he got ready—the black two-year-old suit that fit better, the black tie that his mom tied for him.

There’s the whipping sound of the wind, not even a breath after he’d uttered that word, and Peter’s voice is crackling over the line, “Do you—Do I need to get anything for you? Anything at all?”

Miles shakes his head, throat hurting so much, from the relief and the _weight_. “No, Pete,” he says, low, voice cracking.

“Listen, Miles, I gotta cut the call, okay? Bud? I promise I won’t take long to get there. Just hold on for me, will you, Miles?”

Miles can only hum, not finding his voice. “I’ll see you in a couple of minutes, okay? Just wait.”

Peter keeps his promise. He’s knocking on Miles’ window before the five-minute mark hit. Miles turns over in his bed, staring at the red mask and white lenses. Peter’s suit is a little shiny, wet. It started raining again. 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, but whatever it is, it makes Peter’s shoulders droop, and he opens the window, slinking in silently.

Miles doesn’t want to move—or rather, he can’t. Heavy, heavy chains are tight over his arms, his legs, his head and chest, tight and unyielding. 

Tears prick his eyes, a pathetic whimper cracking through his lips. 

“Oh, Miles,” Peter sighs, and it’s sad, almost sounding hurt to Miles’ ears.

He can feel his own twisting, lips curving and trembling. _Dad._

“Peter,” he says, half-way to a sob, but he holds it together, tries his best to. Peter whips his mask off, and he’s making that face—that kicked puppy look that makes something in Miles’ chest twinge—and his hair is all over the place, and Miles is just so grateful he’s here.

At the sound of his own name, it’s almost as if Peter took a blow in his chest, looking crestfallen as he approaches Miles’ bed. His gloved hands find Miles’ and holds it tight.

“Do you want me to lie next to you?” Peter says quietly, eyes flickering over Miles’ face. A tiny part of Miles tells him that this is all new, this is strange and breaking so many boundaries that they’ve both put up. But he’s in pain, and everything is just so heavy and he’s so tired. He just wants Peter.

Peter’s already stepping closer the second he’s started nodding. It seems a little strange, to see Spider-man climb onto his bed. Not quite an unfamiliar image, though.

“Miles,” Peter says once he’s leaning against the headboard, half turned towards Miles. “Is this okay? I’m getting rainwater all over your bed.”

Miles doesn’t say anything, only pulls on Peter until he’s laying down, resting his head on the pillows like Miles is. Peter doesn’t fight, and Miles didn’t even have to use his super strength, giving easily under his touch.

It’s a little awkward to be staring point-blank at Peter’s face in the dark like this. But it’s almost comforting, in a strange way. 

It’s already a little less heavy.

“Pete,” Miles says quietly. He didn’t expect his voice to sound so… needy, almost impatient. 

Peter inhales sharply, hazel eyes becoming so soft it makes Miles’ head spin.

“Hey. Hi, Miles,” he says, tentative, and his hand—gloved and still a little damp—lands on the side of Miles’ head. There’s the slightest pressure, and Peter curves forward. This time, Miles sees it coming. 

And he does nothing to stop it.

Peter’s lips, uncovered and soft, chapped and warm, press against his forehead, insistent. Ever-present. 

He feels the words more than he hears it. “I’ve got you, Miles.”

* * *

**5**

The heat is searing. It’s hard to breathe. Miles has lost count of the people he was able to get out of the building. It seems like it was forever ago he was just telling Peter to enjoy his day off. 

He wonders if Peter is watching the news. He hopes not. Peter needs this day off. It’s his job interview today.

(After what he did for Miles, it’s only fair that Miles should be able to cover both of their shifts for a favor.)

But things went out of hand so quickly. It was so fast, how the flames spread over the building, swallowing everything whole. He knew he was in trouble when he swung in because the walls were cracking, the foundations in this building absolutely horrible. 

Miles was able to catch the rubble just in time, straining above the three kids huddled under him. 

“Go, go, go! There’s help just outside,” Miles grits, his knees buckling under him, arms already shaking.

They’re absolutely terrified, Miles can see it in their eyes—their faces smeared in soot, tear tracks shiny over their cheeks—but they nod anyway. Smart kids. “You got this, guys,” he says, tries to go for light-heartedness—but it’s a taking a toll.

He can’t hold it up any longer.

Miles just can’t fail to be at Spider-man, he _can’t._

The kids, probably not any older than six or seven, make a dash for the open hallway that Miles had cleared when he entered. 

One of the kids turn back, and she screams at him to move, but Miles can’t, he has to hold everything otherwise these kids will die too.

Another one of the kids, the oldest one, grabs her hand, dragging her out. Miles can breathe the second they leave the door.

And he lets go.

-

He knows not much time has passed when his eyes open. There’s still smoke in the air, and the heat is unbearable under his suit. He’s curled up on the ground, in a tight space that the rubble can’t get to.

Thank God for physics.

He’s able to squeeze his way through the rubble, the flames still close enough to make Miles recoil away. The entrance is blocked, caved in when Miles had let go of the caved in roof. So, he turns the opposite direction and crawls over and under the large pieces of debris, hoping that this building has a back door.

Thankfully, it does. Miles kicks it down, lungs already burning form how much smoke he’s inhaled, how long he’s been holding his breath.

He stumbles out into the alleyway.

He sucks in the air that his lungs desperately need, on the floor on his hands and knees as he coughs his lungs out. He pulls his mask off, hoping for it to help even the tiniest bit.

_Oh damn. Smoke inhalation is no joke._

“Miles!”

Miles’ jerks his head up, and it’s—

—it’s _Peter,_ running towards him.

Miles is barely on his feet when Peter snags and envelops him right into his arms, grip tight and iron-clad, stealing Miles’ breath.

“Miles, _goddamnit_. I thought you had—” he sucks in a ragged gasp, palm firm against the back of Miles’ head.

“ _Never_ do that again, okay?” Peter is shaking. He’s _tremoring_ , but he doesn’t let go of Miles, keeping the both of them steady. He’d picked Miles off the ground, who’s standing on his tip-toes, and his ribs hurt and his lungs still kind of burn, but it’s okay because Peter is here—Peter is—

“Wait, what are you doing here, Pete? I thought it’s your day off?” Miles asks, inching his head back to stare at Peter. He doesn’t mention the slight redness to those hazel eyes, only focuses on the fact that it looks like Peter ran out in the middle of his job interview, with his outfit still looking pristine.

He doesn’t even have his web-shooter wristbands on.

Miles squints at him. “Did you… Did you ditch your interview, man?”

Peter blinks, redness creeping up his neck.

Miles groans, “ _Pete—”_

“I was worried, okay?” Peter says, eyes wide, brows tight. The frown on his lips is the kicker, looking way too upset for Miles to feel okay. “I saw the news but I didn’t have enough time to get my suit and web-shooters which was reckless of me, I know, I should’ve known that something would happen—”

Miles places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “Hey. Don’t do that, man. There’s no way you could’ve known. We don’t plan for this. I mean, it’s even a wonder how you got here in time.”

“The building’s just a few blocks away. And I—” There’s a flash of what looks to be pain, something akin to horror, over Peter’s face, “I saw the building.”

Oh. Yeah. The building. The apartment building. The apartment building that collapsed while Miles was in it.

Miles grimaces. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s shaking his head, and he pulls Miles in. Miles doesn’t get to react when he feels a familiar pair of lips press against his hairline, now a comfort more than an inside joke. “Don’t be. It’s just—I just worry. That’s all.”

Miles pulls away again, sliding his hands from his shoulders to hold onto Peter’ hands. Peter’s pulse under his hands is jumping, presumably from the adrenaline. “I don’t want you to.”

There are more important things that Peter should be worrying about. Like his job interview, for instance. Or his apartment hunting. Miles shouldn’t be anywhere close on the top of his list of worries. Peter has his own adult life, has his own world that doesn’t revolve around being Spider-man.

“I can and I will. You’re my friend, Miles,” Peter says. His eyes are so light up this close—the green coming out a little more. 

“And _friends_ look out for each other’s backs. Like I am still covering your shift and it’s _still_ your day off,” Miles reminds him, nudging his chest gently.

Peter cringes. “Yeah, about that. The interview might be already over.”

“ _Pete.”_ Miles shakes his head, sighing a little.

(He’s not quite sure when he’s become so familiar with his sort-of-idol-slash-crush, when Peter started allowing him to reprimand him, talk over him like he has any right to. Miles puts it up to the fact Peter is just too nice to rebuff him like that. Miles isn’t someone special.)

“I know. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan B.” Peter takes the mask out of his hands, sliding it over Miles’ face, gentler than he had any right to be. “I’ll tell you over pizza.”

“Sal’s?”

“You’ve got that right.”

Miles steps away from Peter, passing him one of his web-shooters. “Cool. Let me cover the pizza this time. You’ve paid for pizza for the last two rounds.”

Peter shrugs. “Gotta feed a growing boy.” 

Miles shoves at his shoulder, following in Peter’s footsteps as the man shoots out a web, slinging himself up into the air.

*******

So. 

Peter and MJ are talking again.

Miles can tell. He’s smiling a little more often now, he’s lost in his thoughts—lips twitching, eyes vacant, a lofty expression on his face. 

Miles is happy for him. He really is. Peter deserves something good in his life. He needs more people too, and if he has someone who he can count on all the time, who can catch him when he falls back, Miles should— _is_ happy for him for having that.

He just thought—

He thought

It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Peter is happy and Miles is happy too. Peter has always been like a ray of optimistic sunshine, sometimes a little too mad-scientist to be completely devoid of being a dork, but still an unbridled source of kindness. Nowadays, it seems like that setting has been turned up to the highest degree. Miles finds it enthralling.

(He finds everything about Peter so. Always has, ever since he guided Miles back onto his own path, protecting him along the way. Not that anyone has to know. It’s just a bunch of mindless thoughts he’ll take to his grave.)

If there’s anything about Peter acting like an overexcited puppy has taught him, is that he and MJ are made for each other. It’s clear. They fit perfectly too. MJ is unyielding where Peter is soft, Peter is strong where MJ is susceptible to threats. They just make sense.

What doesn’t make sense is how Miles feels when Peter leaves the room. Empty and a little cold. Dim, a little dark.

It doesn’t matter. What Miles feels about this doesn’t matter. Peter deserves to be happy and Miles just isn’t someone who does that for him.

Who would want a little kid playing dress-up, after all?

* * *

  
**+1**

He’s on his way back home. He had spent the morning swinging around with Spider-man (the cat). They stopped a jewelry thief, who also turned out to be a car thief when the culprit had broken into a car to make a quick getaway.

It’s late now, later than mom would usually let him out for Spider-man business, but it’s winter break, and his mom is busy with setting up the annual winter bash, so, she spends more time in the office than at home nowadays. It works out, though. Miles gets more hours in as Spider-man, which in turn gives Miles more of a distraction. It all works out.

There’s something about snow that makes the pit of his stomach fall. Sometimes, when he stands at the top of a skyscraper, higher than anyone could ever reach him, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by white flakes—he’s reminded of crazy technology, purple and bright; of betrayal and last-minute apologies and instant forgiveness, of power that’s yellow and painful and the sacrifice that left a sweeping wave of grief.

It’s only been a full year since then, maybe a little less. It’s only a few days before Christmas right now. Phin sauntered back into his life on Christmas Day, and everything slipped out of his grasp in a process of less than a week.

So, maybe Christmas is a little tainted for him, but Miles can’t complain. He’s standing here when Phin isn’t.

He hugs his knees closer to his chest, seeing the puffs of white before his eyes.

He sometimes thinks of whether or not to tell Peter, to put himself on display and let Peter see him for what he truly is. A love-sick child, one who’s clingy, who wants nothing else but the attention of someone seven years his senior.

Miles shivers, sniffs. His throat hurts.

Okay, maybe he’s being a little dramatic, a little hormonal because he’s a teenager and he’s just way too stressed to be thinking coherently twenty-four-seven. And yes, maybe he’s cried a little. Just a bit. A lot.

And he’s very aware he’s invalidating what he feels. Because it’s much, much easier to downplay every overbearing feeling in his body rather than examine and pick it apart. 

(Because what he feels for Peter can’t be expressed in words. At least, not without straying too far and crossing so many boundaries that Miles knows Peter would be horrified to hear from his _bro.)_

But it’s still the easier and better choice to keep his distance. He’s young. He’s got time to figure… _everything_ out. 

Besides, they’re great as friends, as partners. They make an amazing team. Miles wouldn’t be able to do half of the things he does without Peter by his side, guiding him, encouraging him, picking up where Miles slacks. 

He and Peter aren’t compatible in that way, outside of the suits. Peter needs someone stable, someone he’ll be able to count on in his adult and Spider-man life. Miles can’t be that for him, even putting their age difference aside. 

Miles doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, he messes up a lot—and they’re big messes too, he still cringes when he thinks of Rhino’s rampage exactly a year ago—he’s impulsive, he’s stubborn, and he has a whole mountain of unresolved baggage that therapists would be begging to dig into. A whole slew of abandonment issues, deep insecurities, a slight guilt complex—yeah. Miles just doesn’t see why Peter would want someone like him. 

MJ isn’t any of those things. That’s why they’re good together.

Peter is… Peter is—he’s incredible. 

Peter has saved countless lives, even without the mask on. He helps everyone without asking anything in return because Peter knows the importance of kindness, of a second chance, of learning from your mistakes and trying to be better. Peter extends an olive branch to everyone, even to those who don’t deserve it. 

(And Miles knows, knows so deep in his bones that it aches, that he’s one of those people. He almost got Peter killed. He made decisions, selfish ones, that ultimately pushed Phin to sacrifice herself. He lied to his mother, lied to Phin, lied to Peter—and what does Miles get in the end? 

Peter’s never-ending trust and kindness.)

Peter is brilliant, crazily so, and determined too—he pushes himself to limits that extend past his own expectations just because Peter can’t handle the thought of people getting hurt on his watch—like _anyone_ in the city has ever done anything to warrant that type of dedication.

Miles gets it, though, he’s Spider-man too. But he’s also one of the few people who are aware how little he deserves that type of trust from Peter Parker. 

(It’s what pushes Miles to try to be better, a little bit every day; why it’s easier to don the mask, to go out and fight the fight, to help people who turn away from an open hand. Peter being by his side—as corny as it is, Peter is his inspiration, one of the people in his life who he wants to protect, to help, someone he’d drop everything for so he’d be able to cover Peter’s back.)

Anyways—that’s why Miles doesn’t—

whatever he does could _never_ merit the way Peter treats him. And put all of his insecurities aside.

Peter would never want anything to do with a teenager. Why would he? 

Teenagers are emotional and confused and too much of a handful. Teenagers run at the first chance, too terrified to bear the consequences and fix the problems themselves, letting the adults handle it.

Again, Peter needs someone _stable._

Miles is just—he’s nothing worth seeing. That’s all. 

A kid playing pretend.

*******

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

It was stupid, impulsive. At this point, this should be considered self-torture. 

Miles had snapped out of it when he realized what exactly he is looking at. Peter Parker, wearing a godawful Christmas sweater, holding a barely touched glass of champagne, nodding and laughing at something his colleague said.

This is downright _stalking._

Miles should leave. This is so—this is so, so creepy on so many levels. He’d just been too in his own head, too tangled in his own thoughts to think for even a second—he wasn’t even aware he was swinging towards Peter’s hotel until he’d been standing on the building opposite to it, and he’s realized he’d been staring at Peter for a little too long. 

_God, Morales. You are so pathetic._

Miles groans, throwing his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong with _me?”_ he yells, high-pitched and muffled. “This is—can Peter file a restraining order on me? Would he? I mean I wouldn’t blame the dude, but you know, Pete’s just super chill so maybe—okay, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s just leave. No one has to know.”

Miles shakes his nerves off, cringing so horribly at himself he might as well just—

_Incoming call…_

“Miles!”

Motherfuc—

“Hey, Pete!” he winces at how he sounds to his own ears, strained and extremely guilty. 

“How are you? How was patrol?” Peter asks, and Miles—Miles can’t help but turn back around, staring through the windows.

“The usual. I stopped a twofer—she was stealing jewelry at first, then she broke into a car for a getaway. Plus, Spider-man the cat was a big help too, the perfect back massager.”

Peter is—he’s smiling, the grin stretching wider over his lips the longer Miles talks. “I don’t know, man, but your position as Spider-man’s sidekick seems to be in the air right now.”

Peter laughs, throws his head back, eyes closed. Miles can’t stop staring. 

“So, uh,” Miles’ throat is strangely dry, “what’re you doin’? How’s the office party?”

Peter nods to a passing colleague and starts to weave through the crowds. For a couple of seconds, Miles loses him in his sight, and he shifts around on the roof, tries to catch that familiar head of brown hair. He reappears, off to the opposite side of the room, where the crowds are thin and he’s closer to the window.

Miles can even see the expression he’s wearing right now. Pursed lips, blinking eyes—thinking. 

Thinking of a lie.

“I’m doing great! The party’s an absolute blast. Shame I can’t even get drunk, though. Robbie even pulled out all the stops, paid for the good alcohol,” Peter says, champagne glass curled to his chest, leaning back against the wall, eyes trained on the floor of the hotel conference room. He looks… tired.

“I thought you don’t like alcohol,” Miles says, casually, watching as Peter’s brows tick up, corners of his lips turning upward again. Peter stares at the glass in his hand.

“No,” Peter says, voice a little amused. Peter places the glass down on the empty table beside him, hand slipping into his pocket—he’s wearing slacks, fancy for Pete. “I don’t. You’re right.”

Something strange happens then. A shadow passes over Peter’s face, face scrunching, lips tight; it’s only for a second, but Miles had caught it. 

“How are your lungs? Your cough?” Peter asks.

Miles shrugs, “So much black mucus came out of me, I almost freaked out. And just, _super_ gross, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckles, “Warned you about that, didn’t I? I’ve had my fair share of burning building rescues. The aftermath isn’t quite as grand as super-heroing seems to make it out to be, huh?”

Miles snorts, “I think the shine of being Spider-man was gone by the time I cracked my first rib.”

Peter winces, but there’s a smile on his face, a touch nostalgic. “The first swinging lesson, right?”

“Yup. Didn’t help that you just stood there too. If I didn’t know any better, you were excited that I nearly broke my ribs.”

“The first cracked rib is a learning point! Very essential. It’s Spider-man 101.”

“ _Right_. So is quip training?”

“Hey, don’t lie to my face like that. You _loved_ quip training.”

“That’s only because I loved hearing you absolutely roast everybody. I kinda get why you’ve got so many—” Miles clears his throat, smile on his lips, “—people on your friends' list.”

“Ah, to be considered a friend by the one and only Scorpion. Truly an honor.” 

Peter looks a little more relaxed like this, grinning, eyes a little glassy, unfocused. But there’s still a weight to his movements, shoulders slanted—lazy, tired.

“Miles.” The way he says it—soft, unguarded—sends a shiver rolling down his spine, and Miles’ sense whisper in his ears. “You in the area?”

Miles swallows, watches as Peter’s hand comes out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. A habit he gets when he’s flustered; when he’s blushing.

“Uh I—I think so,” Miles says dimly. There’s something about Peter’s tone too. 

“Why don’t you stop by?” Peter asks, unassuming, “We got pizza. Have you eaten dinner?”

“No,” Miles says quietly, then watches as Peter makes his way through the crowds again. He’s heading straight for the large tables cluttered with food. There’s a couple of stragglers hanging around the table and Peter—

Miles puts his hand over his mouth, laughing softly as he watches Peter shoo the rest of his colleagues away from the pizza, grabbing an unopened box from the pile. 

“Is, uhhh,” Peter peeks under the box, “a meat lover’s okay with you?”

“Anything works for me, Pete,” Miles says, biting his lip from making the big dumb smile he knows he’ll make. 

“Alright. I’ll see you when I see you?” Peter says, a little hopeful. He’s walking out of the crowds again, nodding and gesturing his goodbyes to his colleagues, heading straight for the elevator. Miles watches until he’s out of view once more.

“Miles?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course, Pete. Don’t have to wait long. Oh—uh, it seems I can see the hotel from here.” Miles steps off the ledge, letting gravity take him.

“Wait,” there’s the quiet beep of an elevator button, “have you been swinging this whole time?”

“Uh, sort of.” He shoots out a web, propelling him towards the hotel.

“Usually, I would lecture you about multitasking while swinging, but it’s the holidays.”

Miles rolls his eyes under the mask, “ _And_ let’s not forget that you answer all of my calls while you’re swinging. No one likes a hypocrite, Pete.”

“And no one likes a buzzkill, especially during the holidays. Plus, I’m supposed to be a model mentor. Gotta keep up the status quo and all that.”

Miles swallows, chest pricking. Mentor. Yeah.

“Where’s your hotel room?”

“East wing, twenty-third floor. Third to last. There should be a balcony, I think.”

Miles swings over to the other side of the building, crawling up to Peter’s room, sticking above the balcony. He’s wondering if he’s got the wrong room when he hears the door open and close.

There’s the soft rustle of someone moving, walking towards the doors to the balcony.

“Miles?” That’s his cue to web himself down, upside down, coming face to face with Peter—who grins the instant he sees Miles, pizza box in hand.

“Got my pizza?”

“Piping hot and—well, maybe not piping hot. It’s been sitting there for a while. Lukewarm at best. The best kind of pizza. Yum,” Peter says and flicks open the top. The smell of grease, cheese and meat attack his senses.

“You’re an angel, Pete,” he says, dropping to sit on the railing, taking the box out of Pete’s hands. Peter only shrugs, grins a tooth-less smile, a little bashful. He’s leaning against the railing adjacent to Miles; he can feel the older man’s stare on him, and he looks up, meets his eyes.

“Thanks, man,” Miles says, rolling up his mask to take a bite. Oh man, pizza after patrol is really something that can’t ever be replaced.

“Awful sweater, by the way,” Miles says, words muffled by his full mouth. Peter blinks, then looks down. He laughs, “Right. Forgot I had this little baby on.”

“I don’t know what’s worse. The pun or the fact that you’re wearing it in the first place,” Miles says, tilting his head at the ‘ _Fleece Navidad’_ along with the cute image of a sheep wearing a Christmas hat wrapped in Christmas lights. 

“I think there’s some class in having a punny Christmas sweater,” Peter shrugs, pulling at the hem of his sweater to stretch it out. 

“Did it win?”

“Sadly, no. It went to someone who had Spider-man the cat on it.”

Miles’ jaw drops. “They have merch of Spider-man already? That’s _awesome!”_

Peter scoffs, pouting a little. “That cat hates me. I swear, Miles, it’s a conspiracy. Cats _love_ me. Why does my namesake try to claw my eyes out every time I’m two feet within his perimeter?”

Miles shrugs, starting on his third slice. “You weren’t the Spider-man who saved his life, so maybe that’s it.”

“I sense some favoritism going on,” Peter mumbles, plucking one of the slices from Miles’ box.

“I plead the Fifth,” Miles pipes up around his mouthful. Peter swats at him, shaking his head.

“That only works if you’re asked a question, genius,” Peter says, chomping down on his pizza. 

“Whatever you say, Spider-lawyer.”

“Ugh,” Peter grimaces, gesturing towards his bitten slice, “Lukewarm pizza—how are you _eating_ this?”

“Pizza is pizza,” Miles says, grinning, then leans over the space between them, takes a bite out of the pizza in Peter’s hand.

“Heathen,” Peter mumbles, blinking slowly, trying to pull the pizza away from the teenager’s mouth.

“You’re just hatin’,” Miles says, then reaches out, grabs Peter’s hand to keep the pizza still, and continues to eat. Peter just rolls his eyes, but doesn’t pull away or even let go of the slice, simply lets Miles eat out of his hands like—

Miles grimaces, pulling away. Stupid, stupid Miles. 

“Anyway,” Miles says, wiping his mouth, tossing the box off to the small outdoor table in the corner. “How have your holidays been? Haven’t heard from you in a while, man. What’s up?”

Peter goes still at that, his chewing coming to a stop.

His eyes dart away, his hands twitch at his sides, his throat bobs. 

Miles stands at attention, pizza turning into lead in his stomach.

The door clicks open. “Hey, Pete—oh, hey, Miles. Didn’t know you were here. Would have brought something for you. We’ve got lots of food downstairs.”

MJ’s standing in the doorway, key card to Peter’s room in hand.

Right.

Peter and MJ are talking again.

And Miles is happy for them.

“Uh, it’s okay, MJ, thanks. I got pizza for Miles already.”

It feels a little wrong to be standing in this room now, in between the two of them. Miles has heard a little bit of their history together, knows that what they have has spanned the past decade—from middle school friends to college sweethearts. 

He’s an intruder, even more so when he’s now more than painfully aware of the fact he’s in—

It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it, because it’s irrelevant here. 

MJ glances between the two of them. 

“Robbie told me to tell you that he’s still waiting for the pictures. He needs them by Thursday.”

Peter nods, and Miles shifts uneasily. MJ shoots them one last grin before turning back and closing the door, presumably returning to the party, giving him and Peter a little privacy. 

But Miles can’t help but feel the need to go anyways.

He rolls the mask back down to his neck, getting up on the railing into a crouch. “Alright, Pete. I’ll talk to you tomorrow—”

“Wait, what? Hold on, we’re not done. You haven’t even finished your pizza yet,” Peter says, gesturing to the more than half-finished pizza. Truth be told, Miles had lost his appetite.

“And, uh,” Peter halts. Miles turns, eyes on Peter, who’s fidgeting again. He’s making that serious face again, the one he wore before MJ came. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

Miles cocks a brow.

“Something important.”

A pit forms in his stomach.

After a moment of total silence, he settles back onto the railing. 

Peter sighs, relief over his face as his shoulders droop. 

“There’s been something on my mind lately, uh…” Peter crosses his arms, frowns, then uncrosses his arms again, leaning against the railing uncomfortably. “I don’t know how to, uh, say this, because it’s just a little weird. I mean it’s new but I’m still not sure if it’s in a good or a bad way.”

Miles just nods, sits there patiently, knowing better than to cut in and interrupt Peter. Sometimes, it works in his favor to let Peter speak his thoughts, no matter how jumbled they are.

Peter looks nervous, a little anxious. And even though Peter is always anxious, there’s something different about this. Peter seems… self-conscious almost, and not in his usual Peter-I’m-too-humble way.

“I’ve been thinking,” Peter says, repeating himself. “I think that I should take a break from being Spider-man.”

That.

That was not at all was what Miles was expecting. Not that he expected anything, it’s just—

“What?” Miles blinks, whips his mask off. “Why?”

Peter glances down, his arms coming up to cross over his chest once again, but it seems more like an attempt to hug himself, curling into his own stature. 

“Miles,” Peter says, and it’s said in such a tone that Miles can’t parse, not yet, “it’s no secret that you and I have been a great team. We work just really well together.”

“Right.”

“And you’ve been doing an incredible job looking after the city.”

“Pete—”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t wanna hear it. I mean it, Miles. You’ve been doing great things for the city.”

“But,” Peter says, slowly, “to be honest, Miles? I really, really need a break from being Spider-man.”

“I’m—” Words pile up behind his teeth, never-ending and uphill.

“Miles, you’re amazing. You know that, right?”

“I think you’re ready to look after New York. Officially.”

“What—” Miles jerks back, feeling like he’d been slapped.

“You’re ready to be the big man. To take over the mantle.”

This—this doesn’t make sense. Why would Peter suddenly drop everything onto Miles’ shoulders? Doesn’t he know that Miles isn’t ready?

“Pete. No, this is—man, this is a lot, I’m—”

“You’re _ready,_ Miles—”

“I’m _scared,_ Pete,” Miles confesses, shaking his head, “I just—I can’t do the things that you do.”

_Not without you._

Peter grins, but for some unfathomable reason, it’s sad. “That’s what you said right before socking Spider-man in the face, remember? And guess what, you’re swinging through the city now and taking down people _thrice_ your size.”

“That’s not the point, Pete,” Miles brushes it off, “I _can’t_ do this.”

_Please don’t do this._

“Yes, Miles, yes, you can,” Peter insists, nodding, like it’s the only right thing in the world. And Miles really, really wants to argue, wants to prove him wrong, wants to shove it into his face that it’s going to be a mistake he’ll regret sooner or later.

“What happened to being a team?” Miles says instead, almost yelling now, “You literally just talked about that. We work well together, why would wanna break that up?”

Peter looks away. “Listen, Miles.”

“You-You're…” Peter shakes his head slightly, a determined glint to his eyes that hardens something in Miles’ chest, “Don’t say anything about how you’re not ready. You are, Miles. You’re more than ready, you’re—you’re handling everything better than I am now and that’s great. And just you wait, in a couple of years, you’ll be far ahead of me in the Spider-man game. And you don’t need a grizzly, tired, old Spider-man looking over your shoulder every minute.”

Miles’ head is spinning.

“You won’t need me around. I’ll just be suffocating you, you know?”

Miles tries to catch a grip, because Peter is on a roll, words spilling out faster than Miles can collect any of his thoughts to string a sentence. “Pete, you _won’t_ be suffocating me. Don’t talk like you’re—you’re holding me back or something. And stop changing the subject.”

“I’m _not._ ”

“Pete, that’s crazy,” Miles hisses, glaring at Peter, “Why would you give up being Spider-man? Up to me?”

“I’m not giving up being Spider-man. Not completely. I just need some time off. A year probably.”

“A year?” That’s too long—

“Give or take. I’ll be helping around, obviously. For bigger things.” Peter clears his throat, not looking at Miles in the eyes, pulling further away. “But you, Miles, you’ve got everything covered and that’s great. I—I’m so proud of you, buddy.”

“Pete.” Miles knows he can’t overstep any boundaries. Because what they are, friends, partners, bros, Miles can’t help but feel as if there’s an unseen rule he can’t break. He’s afraid to ask, to prod deeper about Peter’s life when he knows he shouldn’t. He’s already taking over being Spider-man, he doesn’t want to overstay Peter’s welcome so much like this. 

But he knows that he’ll regret so much later if he doesn’t ask. Because there’s something off, and it is Miles’ problem to fix it. 

“What the hell’s wrong, man?” he pushes out, and it sounds as childish and overbearing to his ears as he’d feared. But he forges on, “This isn’t like you. It’s freaking me out.”

He utters his name again, watches as Peter winces, and he can’t help himself from reaching out, placing a hand over Peter’s in a gesture he hopes that helps. It’s cold, and trembling a bit.

“Pete.” Miles steps closer; he tries to catch the other man’s gaze. This is all wrong. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong? It can’t just be about—”

Miles purses his lips. It’s weird to hear Peter talk about Miles like he’s something to be revered at, like Peter himself is just some old relic that Miles will get tired of eventually.

“It’s not just about holding me back, is it?” Miles says eventually, and he’s apparently right on the money, because Peter huffs out, face pinching.

Miles swallows past the lump in his throat, and asks, “Is it about MJ?”

Peter frowns, tilts his head and his brows furrow. “What? What about MJ?”

“I mean. I know you guys are talking again. Are you taking a break for her?”

“What? I—” Peter pushes himself off the railing, inadvertently getting closer to Miles. Miles can smell his shampoo from here. “ _What?_ No, MJ and I aren’t—no, we’re not talking again. I mean, we are, but just as friends. We’re not, like—”

“But you and MJ are pretty much perfect for each other, right? She’s your one?” Miles asks, the world spinning again.

Peter shakes his head, laughs a little. He wears that expression like Miles said something so wrong that it’s funny. “No—oh, god, no. We’re not—okay, let’s just make one thing clear. Whatever MJ and I had, it’s all completely over. We agreed to put everything behind us. Because there’s just a lot of history and so many things happened. The timing too, it was awful. So—”

Peter shrugs, and only then does Miles realize he’s still touching Peter, and he pulls away, hand clenching at his side.

“We just decided to end it.”

“That means…” Miles starts, “You and MJ aren’t—aren’t together anymore? Like, really, really done?”

“Oh yeah. Like really, really, _really_ done this time,” Peter chuckles.

Miles frowns. That doesn’t make sense. God, nothing has made sense since this conversation started.

“What’s the problem, then?” He asks, nervous of the answer.

“I’m—I’m a mess, Miles,” Peter says it like it’s a sin like it’s something he’s ashamed of and—oh.

“I can’t find a steady job; I’m barely living from paycheck to paycheck. Most nights, I can’t even go to sleep because of—” Peter breathes in, slowly, “A lot of things.”

“I’m getting sloppy. There are so many things on my plate, and I can’t—”

Peter stops again, words broken but never-ending, jittery and a touch hysterical. Miles has never seen him like this. “You deserve someone better to look after you. I’m a mess and you—you’re doing an _amazing_ job, you got that? You’re perfect, Miles, and I’m not but that’s not something you should be worrying about.”

“I’m just—” Peter pulls away completely, his hands coming up to rub at his face. When they drop, every wall in Peter comes crumbling down. “I’m so exhausted.”

Miles stares at him.

Peter tugs at his sweater sleeve, lips in a self-deprecating slant.

“And I’m not happy. Haven’t been for a while.” Hazel eyes fix on him.

“I’m sorry,” Peter mutters, and Miles feels himself shake his head. “That you’re picking up the slack of a washed-up Spider-man.”

Okay. This is getting out of hand.

“Really, I’m just screwing this up even further because I’m taking the easy route by dropping New York on your shoulders, and it’s my fault and it’s my responsibility—”

“Peter. Stop. Please just—please just stop.”

How did this get all wrong?

“Okay, first off. You’re _not_ taking a break as Spider-man.”

Peter looks like he bit into a lemon, “Miles—”

“Listen, Pete. You’re not gonna drop all these reasons on me and expect me to accept them. Because these are all just bullshit,” Miles says, taking a half-step forward. “I’m your friend. I’ve got your back. “

“And second, is there… Is there any way that I can help? With the job hunting? I’ve heard that you’ve been spending a lot of time at F.E.A.S.T. Maybe I can take some of your management tasks, you know? Ease up some of your workload. I’ve helped out at mom’s office before, so I’ve got a little bit of an idea on how to manage. I think.”

And suddenly Peter is frowning, frowning so deeply, the curve in his lips so deep-set and upsetting.

Miles groans, “And—ugh, I’ve got to be honest, Pete. Seeing you upset and not happy is probably one of the worst things. It’s like watching a kicked puppy.”

“If there’s any way I can do to help you feel better, anything I could get you, and I mean it— _anything_ you want, bro, I’d do it.” He tries not to think of the implication in words, focuses on keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

Peter sucks in a shaky breath. Then—then he’s laughing, weak, but it sounds sad, turning into something bitter. “Miles. It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Miles says, can’t help but be defiant.

Peter pierces him with a look. “We can’t all get what we want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Miles asks, crossing his arms.

Peter shakes his head, looking downright distraught. “You see, that right there is the problem.”

“It _shouldn’t_ be something I want, but, God help me—Miles, I do. I really, really do.”

Miles frowns.

Peter shrugs his shoulders, as if not blaming Miles for not figuring it out yet. “I don’t deserve it.”

Miles shakes his head, vehement. “Yes, you do. Whatever it is, you deserve it.” Miles is frantic, because this is all so, so _wrong._ He grabs his hand, tugging Peter to face him. “You deserve the world, Pete. I don’t understand why you don’t think so.”

Peter stares at their joined grip, and says, amused, “What if I said I wanted a break from Spider-man?”

“I’d say you’re lying.”

“God.” Peter huffs a laugh.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Miles urges at him, “Especially if I can help?”

“Because it’s complicated, Miles.”

“What isn’t? Everything’s always complicated.” Miles tugs on his hand, drawing the other man’s eyes to meet his. “But that means nothing if you’re acting like this. I’m not gonna leave until I can find a way to help you.”

Peter pulls away _again._ Always pulling away, always putting more distance between them. Peter never does that. He always embraces everything he does, even if it’s painful and uncomfortable, dives headfirst before thinking. He has never pulled away, especially when Miles is in the question.

The man hugs himself. And it’s such a vulnerable, softened image that it tugs painfully at Miles’ chest.

“If I tell you,” Peter whispers, his voice mirroring exactly how he looks, “Will you let me take the break?”

“Pete, c’mon—”

“Will you let me take the break?” Peter says again, firmer.

Miles drags a hands down his face, biting back a groan. “Okay. Deal. Tell me.”

Peter waits a beat. Then half-turns to face Miles, glancing at the teenager in the corner of his eyes.

“I’ve got my own personal set of defects. And this is just another one.” Peter’s tone is flat. “I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. I’ve been distracted, Miles. For… For a while now. And I’m a coward. I’ve been pretending it’s not a big issue, but it is. It’s gotten worse and worse and I don’t know how to contain it because the last time I’ve had to deal with something like this was—god, _years_ ago. I’ve got so many things on my plate already, but this really just takes the cake. Because it’s wrong and I’m the problem, okay? This is my problem, and it shouldn’t be your burden to deal with—”

“Man, just spit it out—”

“—because I think I’m in love with you.”

Miles jerks back.

Peter eyes him, sorrowful—but he doesn’t look surprised, like he expected Miles’ reaction.

“I know that’s—that’s so wrong and weird and I can only imagine how creepy it is for you. Especially since I’ve been making excuses. To be closer to you and—I’ve been pretending that the things I do are platonic but it’s not and I’m so sorry, Miles. I know I shouldn’t even be standing this close to you—”

Miles’ hand comes up to web Peter’s mouth.

“Letting you talk is only making you feel worse,” Miles explains, shrugging at Peter’s gobsmacked expression. “Don’t take it off. Or, I’ll web your hands too.”

Peter tries to take it off anyway. And Miles only shakes his head. A strand of web sticks to Peter’s hand, and Miles yanks, webbing it to the railing, then proceeds to do the same thing to his other hand before he can tear it off.

Miles pauses, takes a deep breath to calm down his quaking heart that’s punching itself out of his chest. He runs a hand over his head, trying his best to wrap his head around _everything._

“Peter. Holy crap. This isn’t—whatever I expected it, for real, wasn’t this at all. I was thinking you were gonna say something like a holiday in the Maldives or like, a new pair of sneakers. Not _this.”_ He waves uselessly at space between them. Peter groans under the webbing, closing his eyes in defeat.

Miles shakes his head, adrenaline running through his veins. “This is _insane_. I would have never—”

Miles laughs, because he can’t, can’t help it. He ignores Peter’s bewildered expression, because this is all so _crazy._

Not even an hour ago, he was sitting out in the freezing cold, moping about his own feelings, thinking it’s one of the worst things in the world that he's in love with his mentor—but Peter felt the same way, he _does_ and he thinks Miles doesn’tand—oh god, he thinks Miles _doesn’t._

Miles turns to Peter. “You wanna know what’s screwed up?”

He doesn’t wait for Peter’s reaction, letting the confessions fall off of his chest. “The fact that I’ve been thinking about you in the—the same way, man. For a while. And I—I thought I was taking advantage of you, in a way, because we were close and I thought it was better than nothing.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, a little vacant, a little in awe. It makes Miles want to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to say this, after everything that Peter had already dropped on him.

“If I knew you were feeling this bad, I—” Miles sighs—shakes his head, and rushes in for a hug, encasing Peter in his arms.

Peter whimpers, and it breaks Miles’ heart.

Miles feels so, so relieved. And he can’t even think. He really can’t. Everything that tries to form in his head wisps away the longer he steals heat from Peter.

He pulls back, stares at the man before him, who’s furrowing his eyes, who looks a little confused but so painfully hopeful that it tears something deep in Miles.

“Pete.” His hands are shaking, anticipation and something warm suffocating Miles in his chest. It’s addictive. But even though his hands are trembling like crazy, his stomach is in knots, his throat is painfully dry—he takes his time reach for Peter’s cheeks.

The second his hands cover the man’s face, Peter’s eyes slide closed, a soft sigh escaping him.

Peter isn’t much taller than him. Just a little less than two inches. Even then, Peter leans down, yielding to Miles’ hold, and Miles feels like he’s holding something precious, something so infinitely important to him that he can’t quite think straight, heady with the trust and ever-present warmth.

The sound Peter makes, a low-pitched moan—satiated yet impatient—sends the best feeling dousing over Miles' head, rolling over his shoulders and down his spine; his lips finally meeting Peter’s forehead, soft and careful.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! i love kudos and any type of comments! <3


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